


two tablespoons of uncertainty

by Mamichigo



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Developing Relationship, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 10:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20424779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamichigo/pseuds/Mamichigo
Summary: What is a raindrop compared to the vastness of the ocean?What is Aziraphale's affection compared to Crowley's devotion?





	two tablespoons of uncertainty

**Author's Note:**

> emotions are hard
> 
> (a special thank you to my lovely, wonderful and ever so patient beta [Kotaboda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kotaboda/pseuds/Kotaboda))

It hadn't been his plan to invite Crowley in—not that he was usually averse to the demon's presence, but it was somewhat an out of the ordinary situation (as mundane as the actual thing was). Truth was, Aziraphale had planned to quietly retreat back into his bookshop, where he would get a nice cup of a hot drink and try to sort his own thoughts into something that at least resembled some sort of coherence.

The break was very much needed, as the stretches of awkward pauses that Aziraphale was now prone to fall into hadn't escaped Crowley's attention; in fact, he only got more suspicious each time it happened, and Aziraphale could clearly see the question curling on his tongue.

Honestly speaking, Aziraphale just did not have the words to explain to Crowley that whenever he was in his presence (and even in his absence), Aziraphale would think of a kiss so soft it fell on his lips like a delicate rose petal. Of an "I love you" said with a noticeable tremble, coated with adoration and fear in equal parts.

The declaration hadn't been all that surprising, especially when he looked back: Aziraphale had been all too aware of Crowley's devotion to him, all the "us" and "together" he uttered like one would a beloved secret, held close to the heart and released with a flourish, a sigh of content and relief.

It was there in the way Crowley smiled at him, the quirk of his lips reserved like he never meant to let it show, but it got out of him anyways. In the distance between them, always almost touching, a breath away from brushing fingertips and touching thighs, the way he tilted his head closer as he listened avidly to what Aziraphale said. It was in his gaze, unwavering in its attention and, more importantly, full of affection barely hidden behind the frames of his sunglasses, affection that Aziraphale didn't know what to do with.

And that was the problem, wasn't it? Before, he was stopped by guilt and fear, unsure of what loving a demon would bring upon him—but he wasn't fooling himself, knew he had already dipped his feet too far, was already waist-deep into a fondness that sounded too much like madness. Now, it was just the two of them, they were both "us", never one without the other, and Aziraphale couldn't imagine making plans that did not involve Crowley in some way.

Yet, when Crowley shifted closer, when he put his arms around Aziraphale under the disguise of guiding him somewhere in a fashion that was not at all subtle, when he interrupted one of Aziraphale's reading sessions with a hand to his elbow and a "welcome back to Earth, angel" in a manner so soft that Aziraphale could do nothing other than smile, book completely forgotten in the face of Crowley's kindness. Yet, enveloped in the warmth of Crowley's love, Aziraphale felt like a child trying to hold on to a pool of water in his hands, unable to contain it all or do anything about how it spilled without his control.

Aziraphale loved Crowley, but it almost scared him, how his feelings were only a particle of dust compared to the bright star of Crowley's devotion, a celestial body that only grew, to the point where Aziraphale could barely look at it directly. While Aziraphale would offer himself—his time, his attention, a hand to hold and lips to be kissed—, Crowley would offer Aziraphale the same and much more, the entirety of the universe on a silver plate for Aziraphale to take a taste of if he so wished to do.

It was all of those thoughts that swarmed Aziraphale's head like angry bees, making him shake his head in hopes of scattering them away for long enough for him to think straight and listen to what Crowley said before he found himself trailing off yet again. And it was those thoughts that Aziraphale needed to sort through before they finally choked him up enough to make him incapable of talking at all.

He even had an excuse on the tip of his tongue, ready to dismiss Crowley in the least harmful way possible, so Aziraphale could retreat and stress drink too many cups of scalding tea. So the plan went, but as soon the first raindrop hit Crowley's shoulder, the words died away like they were never there at all; just like millennia ago, when Aziraphale couldn't help offering a wing to protect the demon from the oncoming storm, he found himself ushering Crowley inside before he could get any wetter.

A choice that he was now cursing himself for as the rain grew stronger outside; there was no chance of Aziraphale making Crowley go out in this weather, no matter how frantic Aziraphale was over the prospect of spending a cozy afternoon in with his friend when his own emotions were in such disarray.

Thankfully, Crowley had hurried to the back room, where it was warmer, while Aziraphale stayed behind with a desperate declaration of needing to find something, which gave him a few more moments to gather his composure. It was, however, only a minute or two of watching the falling rain with a frown before Crowley's patience was through, it seemed.

"Angel, what the hell is the holdup?" Came the demon's voice, drawled on in a casual question—too casual, enough to betray his eagerness.

Aziraphale smiled, at the same time he suppressed a sigh, resigning himself to just joining Crowley for now, and dealing with the consequences as they came.

"This rain is just dreadful, isn't it?" Aziraphale commented lightly as he walked past bookshelves to find Crowley sprawled on one of the chairs. He didn't actually mind the weather—in fact, it was a pleasant one in which to read a book—, but Crowley wasn't as unaffected as he liked to pretend he was. His frown deepened at the sight of Crowley's not at all warm jacket. "Do you think it'll stop any time soon?"

Crowley rolled his head to the side so he could look at Aziraphale through his shades. "How should I know, do I look like the weather forecast lady?"

"Oh, come now, you're just being crabby because you don't like that it’s cold." Aziraphale pointedly looked at Crowley's jacket, raising his eyebrows at it. "Not that you seem to listen to my opinion on the matter."

Crowley waved his hand dismissively. "No weather is going to win against me, angel."

Aziraphale stared skeptically at Crowley's chattering teeth, but held his concerns back when Crowley kept staring right back as if daring him to say anything.

Deciding to leave Crowley to his pride for the moment, Aziraphale turned his back on him to find one of his tins brimming with tea leaves.

"Besides, if you're so worried about it, can't you just…" Crowley did a flick of his wrist. "You know."

"We shouldn't get frivolous with the miracles, I've told you that before," Aziraphale admonished. "The weather will get itself sorted out—"

Crowley released a huff of air that came with a noise meant to be, well, anything, but Aziraphale was sure this time it was skeptical amusement.

"—Eventually," he finished.

He couldn't hear what Crowley grumbled under his breath, but Aziraphale could feel it'd be something that would have him refusing to speak to Crowley for the entirety of a minute. It was a good thing he didn't hear him, then, as Aziraphale didn't fancy the idea of the punishment either.

"Did you really bring me in to talk about the weather?" Crowley asked in that rude way of his.

With his back turned, Crowley couldn't see the way Aziraphale rolled his eyes at his words.

"Of course not, that'd just be silly," Aziraphale replied. "I brought you in because I wasn't about to let you wander around the city when it's raining this badly. Especially when you insist on wearing nothing more than that flimsy jacket of yours."

Crowley scoffed, offended. "My jacket is not flimsy!" Aziraphale could hear the way he was crossing his arms just from the irritated way he spoke, if that was even possible. "You worried about me, angel?"

Aziraphale whirred back so he could properly scrunch up his nose at Crowley. "Of course I am, you keep walking around shaking like an old machine, looking like you might actually collapse at any moment. It's quite nerve-wracking, I'm always a second away from bundling you up myself, if that's what it takes for you to stop being unreasonable."

Crowley blinked at him, surprised at the heat in Aziraphale's words. Off-balance, Crowley overcompensated for the lack of words by assuming a more uncaring position, sinking further into his chair, arms and legs stretching wider. Aziraphale smiled at the sight, thinking of a small animal trying to make itself look bigger than it actually was.

Crowley turned his head to the side, then ran a hand through his hair, looked to the other side, fiddled with the frame of his glasses. Finally, he chanced a glance at Aziraphale. "You could, if you want. You know, bundle me up," Crowley said with some flourish, hands sweeping in vague arches, shoulders shrugging. "Or whatever."

For a moment, Aziraphale feared he might have lost control of his physical body, as his chest seemed to grow a few sizes too large. He made sure to give it an once-over, checking that it looked just the same as always, before walking towards Crowley, all thoughts of tea-making completely forgotten. Just as Aziraphale had stepped close enough to loom over Crowley, the demon looked up, body tense with anticipation.

Aziraphale hooked a finger into one sleeve of his own coat, pulling on it slightly before tipping his head to the side. "May I?"

Crowley opened and closed his mouth a few times before settling for a simple nod. Given the green light, Aziraphale shrugged out of his coat, careful not to wrinkle it before handing it to Crowley, who hurried to take it from him, hands fumbling for a moment. As soon as he had the coat around himself, Crowley was happy to shrink into it, hiding most of his body inside the fabric and settling into it with clear contentment in his relaxed features.

"Better?" Aziraphale asked, though he didn't really need to.

Crowley shoved his fists deep into the pockets as he looked at Aziraphale, eyes half-lidded like he was about to fall asleep right where he sat. "Very."

And at the moment, pinned by the open warmth in the yellow eyes, Aziraphale's breath caught in his throat. He wanted to reach out and press a thumb to the dimple on his right cheek, to get so close to the center of that warm gaze that it would feel like molten lava, sure to melt Aziraphale from the sheer power of it. Aziraphale knew, with a surety that he had only in a few handful of things, that he would not be denied it, that he needed only ask and Crowley would give it to him willingly.

Aziraphale was never one to deny himself things that felt good; quite the contrary, as he went out of his way to  _ acquire _ them. Being loved by Crowley, as it turned out, was one of those things. It felt hot in his veins, something that ran up his pine all the way to his head, slightly dizzying but no less lovely. It left him feeling cherished, special. Important as it was hard to be in such a vast universe.

So, when Aziraphale hurried without an explanation to one of his bookshelves, hands fleeting upon the spines of his books, it was only for Crowley's sake that he did so. Crowley let out a confused noise under his breath, and Aziraphale found a book to keep his nervous fingers occupied with.

"What's wrong?" Crowley asked, suspicion rising like it had been for days.

"What? Wrong? Nothing's wrong, of course, what a silly question," Aziraphale rambled in reply, eyes resolutely focused on the pages under his fingers, though he didn't bother trying to read them, already knowing it'd be a pointless effort.

"Of course there is, you're acting like… I dunno, a nervous mouse or something like that," Crowley countered, following the scrape of the chair across the floor as he made to stand up.

"I do  _ not _ act like a mouse!" Aziraphale said, having at least some dignity to despise the comparison.

Crowley hummed, almost prompting Aziraphale to look up and check what he was up to, but his head remained stubbornly down. Which turned out to be a mistake, as he didn't realize Crowley was approaching until he was being crowded against the bookshelf behind him. Aziraphale tried to brace himself, his hand coming just short of touching Crowley's chest before he stopped himself and back away into the bookshelf as much as he could with Crowley standing so close to him.

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley's frowning face, offering a nervous smile that only served the purpose of making Crowley squint at him.

He was somewhat reminded of being pushed against a wall like this not too long ago before he ignored the memory to watch Crowley instead.

"Aziraphale," Crowley started, then paused. Aziraphale hoped the thrill he felt when his name rolled out of Crowley's tongue wasn't too obvious. Crowley licked his lips, then tried again, "If there was anything wrong, you'd tell me?"

His eyes were intense, but full of anxiety now that Aziraphale was truly looking. Aziraphale raised a hand to touch his cheek reassuringly, a quiet apology for worrying Crowley when the only thing happening was Aziraphale's own uncertainty. 

"Of course I would! We're sticking together now, right? You'd be the first to hear it if something was amiss," he added, voice gentle but firm. It wouldn't do to have Crowley doubting their friendship.

"Okay. Cool, good." Crowley nodded to himself.

"Certainly." Aziraphale nodded back.

Neither of them moved. Or spoke, for that matter. For what felt like hours on end, they just watched each other, Crowley with a hand next to Aziraphale's head, and Aziraphale clutching his book to his chest.

"Angel—"

"Crowley—"

They stopped. Crowley pursed his lips, frustrated, and Aziraphale laughed at the expression.

"Well, go on, then," Crowley encouraged, wagging his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Well, I—" Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, willing the words to come out. "You see, it's just—" But they never did.

He wasn't sure what those words would be, in the first place. Perhaps another apology—Aziraphale  _ was _ inclined to voice a sincere "I'm sorry"—, or something a bit more emotional, like an "I love you", one more of many already declared before.

Or even, in a more terrifying possibility, admitting, a bit too raw and too open: I love you, but I don't know if I love you like you love me.

He looked at the way Crowley fit inside Aziraphale's coat, how he inserted himself in it and made it  _ his _ , saw his piercing and expecting eyes, and at the end simply smiled, no words ever reaching the surface, dying even before they reached the shore.

Crowley, for his part, seemed to see something in his face, in the curve of his lips, as the next moment he's leaning closer and closer still, air and dust shifting between their shared breath. Aziraphale doesn't let himself be kissed as much as he does the kissing himself, fisting whatever fabric he can latch on to then pulling Crowley the rest of the way in, meeting him in the middle, bodies pressing tight together.

His hold on the book slackened, but, before it could fall, Crowley took it from his hand and pushed it on top of the books above Aziraphale's head, his lips never making any motion to pull away. The whole thing is gentle in a way it wouldn't be expected from someone who doesn't value books just as much as Aziraphale himself does—but it's not surprising, really; it matters to Aziraphale, and in turn is of utmost importance to Crowley that the bookshop and its content stay in top condition.

It is such an innocuous thing, but it has Aziraphale biting down on a string of compliments, a "you're so precious" and an "absolutely marvelous", instead pouring those words into the way he grasps at Crowley's hair.

And he kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him, because there's not much else Aziraphale can do.

**Author's Note:**

> "You love me  
But do I love you?
> 
> Is it just simple desire  
That eats at me?  
Do I long for you  
Or for your devotion?  
Do I dream of you  
Or of what you can give me?  
Do I want your touch  
Or just any loving caress?
> 
> Do I love you  
And does it matters  
When I kiss you just as passionately?"
> 
> \- One teaspoon of love, two tablespoons of uncertainty


End file.
